Making It Count
by CriesofCapricorn
Summary: During “Last Call,” waiting in the jewelry shop to buy the ring, Mason has a little, humorous talk with his inner voice, concerning all his feelings about his last day on earth and his intentions of how he will spend parts of it.


During "Last Call," waiting in the jewelry shop to buy the ring, Mason has a little, humorous talk with his inner voice, concerning all his feelings about his last day on earth and his intentions of how he will spend parts of it.

A/N: The italics represent Mason and his inner voice. Every start of a new paragraph is the other speaking. You'll understand once you begin reading it.

--

_I shouldn't be here. _

_So why the fuck are you?_

_Ah. Ring. For Daisy. Engagement ring. She wanted one, after all. Said that's her regret. Not getting engaged before she kicked the bucket. So that's what I'll get her. An engagement ring._

_Oh, who are you shitting? You two aren't even together. What, you think just because you killed a guy for her, you deserve her?_

_Damn right I do! No … I mean, I think that's insensitive … or somethin'._

_The first blow to Ray's head was to help her, fine. But the others? Those were a vent for your raging anger. You were down-right brassed off when they started seeing each other. That's what drove you to do what you did._

_No, that's not true at'all. I was trying to protect Daisy …_

_From what! She's already dead, you fucking genius. _

_You know what, inner voice, you're starting to sound a lot like Rubey and I **really** don't fancy it much._

_Still shouldn't be here, Mason._

_Don't I fucking know it. Not blind, you know. Look at all these stupid happy-go-lucky couples. Women with their arms around their hubbies-to-be, the blokes in their business suits, eager to please their girls with whatever ring she chooses._

_And you, with your torn jeans at the knees, your British rock band T-shirt, and your white jacket that's how many years old now, anyway?No suit. No girl. Hardly any cash. Quite the outsider, aren't you._

_Piss off! I sold all my rubbish today, I've got to do something that matters with that money. This seems like the best way to do it. _

_Your un-life, mate._

_That's bloody right. I told **you**…_

_Because you're ever the eloquent speaker. What's that you asked George once: what comes after 'weeks?'_

_'Months.' And shut the fuck up, I was severely messed up that day, and you know it. _

_And yet you still didn't learn your lesson, did you?_

_'Course not – there's a reason why they call it an addiction, you pillock. Actually, not very comfy now, could go for some pot this very minute – loosen me right up._

_And …_

_No 'ands.' Just a 'but.' But … I won't. Here on a mission. _

_Look on the bright side, maybe your reap will have some and share. _

_No, none today. I spent my last day living doing that shit – however amazing it felt. Though the aftermath of the drill-in-the-head wasn't quite as much fun as I anticipated. But if it's my last day here, I've got to make it count, you know. Maybe I should even say my farewells._

_What, like a war movie?_

_Yeah, sure. Think I'd say it first to Roxy. Maybe even give her the bullet embedded in my fucking leg … as a token, of sorts. _

_'S still in there?_

_Where else would it have gone? Not like a bleedin' doctor took it out._

_Then, what, going to see Rube?_

_Nah. I'm on his list, after all. Whatever's going to happen me, he'll be there. I'll see him last, at the end of the day, whether I like it or not … Then I got to visit Georgie-girl. Got to - she's the sister I always wanted, you know._

_Whatever you say to her, it won't matter. She'll just assume you're drunk, which you are, as always, so never-mind._

_Please, I've been drinking so long it hardly has any effect any more. And, yeah, I know she won't believe me, but I've got something to say, and by God, I will say it. Besides siblings just **get** each other._

_So when the fuck did you get to be so damn persistent? _

_Huh. No soddin' idea, truth be told._

_And then … who's next on your list?_

_Do you have to ask?_

_Think I'll do it anyway, just to tick you off._

_Daisy. Got to give this to her, yeah? _

_Best you did. Or else you'd just be wasting your precious fleeting time in here, wouldn't you._

_Don't make it sound like that. I'm not dying … you know, bloody 'been there, done that' trip._

_Future's looking a little hazy for you, though._

_That's why I'm here. So that blonde, beautiful, twit can know, no matter what, that I care about her and, maybe, even –_

"Can I help you, sir?" a voice interrupts Mason from his thoughts.

_He's talking to you, dip-shit. Might want to move toward him._

Mason approaches the man, who had recently finished his business with another couple. "Uh, yeah. Looking for a ring."

The man stares at him, waiting for a more elaborate response.

Mason scratches behind his ear, uncomfortably, "A pretty ring. Engagement. Slender. Maybe somethin' on sale. Really, _really_ not expensive," he lowers his eyes, hinting that he has very little cash.

"What range?" the man questions.

Mason sighs. "Look, can I just start seeing some rings? I don't really have a lot of time and –"

"Come this way."

After following the man behind the counter, Mason viewed about half a dozen rings, already, and not one was quite what he was looking for.

The man already seemed a bit annoyed by Mason's indecisiveness. "Now, this one," the man said, removing another ring from the collection, "is a little more pricy than the previous ones, but …"

The man's voice waned in Mason's head. The second he saw the ring, he could have sworn he saw Daisy's face in it.

_Did you see that, too, inner voice?_

_God, Mason, listen to yourself. I'm an inner **voice**, I sure as hell don't have eyes. But, yeah, know what you mean … well, say something, you look paralyzed, they might call an ambulance on you. _

"Tha-that's bloody brilliant. This ring … this one's good."

_Unless you plan on stealing it and going to jail on your last day, you should probably ask the price._

_Right. Yeah. Fuck, got to say I'm 'fraid to ask, though._

"How-how much?"

Upon hearing the price, Mason released a slow whistle.

_Shit. That stealing idea doesn't sound too bad now, eh?_

"Tell you what, young man," the jeweler begins.

_Young man, pft! You're probably older than he is. Mortals!_

_Shh. I'm trying to pay attention, here._

"Sorry, did you say you'd give me a discount?" Mason questions, unbelieving.

"How's 300 bucks sound?" he offers.

_Three hundred. Bloody hell, that works out perfectly._

_Yeah, Mason, it's your perfect day – albeit, your last … _

_Shut up, for fuck's sake._

"Sounds marvelous. Could kiss you … though, I won't."

"Would you like something inscribed in it – gratis, no worries?" the man asks.

"Uhhh … Can I think about it for a minute?"

The man nods his head and temporarily departs.

_What should I write?_

_Nothing. You're no poet. Don't try to be._

_Hey, I can be a poet. _

_Sure, just like you can be a rock star – if you could sing. Or an actor like James Dean – if you could act. Besides, I don't think poets have the word 'fuck' coming out of their mouths every other minute._

_It doesn't have to be poetic – just good._

_Something done well from a fuck-up. Got to be honest with you and say something just doesn't click, Mason._

_My shirt still smells like Diet Coke._

_What?_

_It's true, my shirt still smells like the Diet Coke she threw on it when we first met. Maybe I should write that._

_Hell, I'm surprised you remember that. _

_I know, me too. _

_You can't even remember the lies the two of you made up today._

_Right, what was that?_

_Bowling, you moron. _

_Riiiight. Bowling._

_Getting distracted there?_

_No, no. Still thinking about the inscription. Her file, it said her last thought was why no one ever loved her. Maybe I can say 'You're not **impossible** to love.'_

_And they say romance is dead. That's bullshit. Next._

_You're fucking right. I'm a horrid poet._

_Well, when you ain't got it, you ain't got it._

"Have you decided?" the man asks him.

"Yeah, let it be. No inscriptions."

After paying for the ring, Mason takes the box and holds on to it as he puts both the ring and hand in his pocket. "Thanks, for your help."

"You're welcome."

_"You're welcome." Bloody hell, that's what I should write. Wouldn't that be stupid? Got to say it'd work, though. She'll never thank me up front for getting her this ring, so maybe I should just go and write "you're welcome" just so she knows I know her like no one else. _

_Shit, that's the first sensible idea I've heard from you yet. Are you sobering up?_

"Excuse me. I just changed my mind about the engraving. Can you write 'You're welcome. – Always, Mason.'"

"'You're welcome. Always, Mason?'" the man reiterates after him, confused. "Yes. All right. If that's what you wish," the man reaches out his palm to indicate he needs the ring back.

Leaving the shop, Mason sticks the ring in his pocket once more.

_That went well, eh._

_Hard part's still coming up, boy. Just, please try, for once … and I know this is going to take a toll on you … but try really hard not to fuck it up. _

_Trust me, today's my last day, after all. And like I've been telling you – got to make it count._

_--_

Uh, what can I say? My first Dead Like Me fic. And I've never even caught a whole episode of the show! I saw some clips, and became very interested so I tried to find out more about it from various sources. I sent this to my friend, and she said the characterization was pretty good. I hope you all think the same. Please, please, feel free to leave reviews, whether they are complimentary or constructively critical. Thank-you all!


End file.
